


Second Wind Coming

by charmingwillow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Death eater sirius, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Mild torture, Post Hogwarts, first wizarding war, healthy dash of jily, vague allusions of stalking, vaguely happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmingwillow/pseuds/charmingwillow
Summary: Five times James Potter encountered the Death Eater known as Sirius Black… and one time when Sirius came to him for help.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Second Wind Coming

**Author's Note:**

> I... I didn't mean to write this. But I got the plot bunny and [alrightginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrightginger/pseuds/alrightginger) encouraged it and, uh, my hand slipped and cards I didn't know I had up my sleeve spilled out...
> 
> What I mean is, this wasn't meant to be almost 10k but here we are, please enjoy.

_June, 1979_

The storm took an entire day to brew. 

Fleamont and Euphemia felt it the moment they woke that morning, their bones aching and creaking. James felt it spark in his hair, a static that hung in humid air. Dark clouds gathered dark and angry, bruising the sky, carried by a harsh and gusting wind. 

When James stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and wearing an old Quidditch jersey, he found Lily and Fleamont sitting together in their potions aprons, having a break from the lab. Lily’s fingers brushed at his jaw affectionately as he dropped a kiss atop her head on the way to make a cup of tea.

“Hope you’re not planning on playing, son,” Fleamont commented, eyes on James’ jersey. “It’d be foolish to…”

So James stayed inside, draped over the living room couch with all the drama of a thwarted sixteen year old regulated to staying inside, never mind that he was actually nineteen. Euphemia dropped a sympathetic cup of tea on the side table, and invited him to help address envelopes for her various charities… 

“Hngh,” James whinged, but hauled himself up from the couch anyway, because Lily and Fleamont were busy in their potions cave and Euphemia Potter’s charity donors were infinitely more interesting to hear about than staring out the window. 

The rain began a few hours later, big, fat globs that landed heavily on the roof and slid down the windows in silver beads. James watched them with general disinterest as he listened to his mum rattle off the story of Madam Dewbury and how she almost fell victim to a siren. 

“At first nothing happened,” Effie went on, oblivious to the pond sized puddle forming in her back garden, threatening to ruin her roses. “Madam Dewbury just isn’t... _interested._ But the siren quickly learned that all she had to do was sing about homemade cinnamon rolls…” 

James thought that actually sounded nice, and so he wandered into the kitchen to see about making some, but left about two hours later completely frustrated and covered in a sticky flour and cinnamon mixture. A couple of malformed lumps cooled on the counter, an offer for anyone brave enough…

By evening, the rain came down in sheets, swallowed by the velvety darkness outside. Thunder crackled across the sky as the Potters settled back in the living room. By now, Fleamont and Lily were finished up for the day; they’d showered off the pungent lab odors so the room smelled of fresh flowers from their shampoos.

James and Euphemia both read; some obscure Transfiguration book dug out from the library and a suspiciously steamy romance, respectively. Fleamont scribbled in a journal and Lily replied to a letter from Marlene. At some point, they snacked on a dessert— not James’ unfortunate cinnamon rolls, but gulab jamun made by Effie. 

Despite the near violence happening outside the manor, an air of contentment fell over them, quiet and familiar, no talk needed as they enjoyed each other’s company. Occasionally, one of them stole a glance at the ancient grandfather clock tucked in the shadowed corner, always quick, fleeting.

James felt his eyelids grow heavy ‘round nine, lulled by the howling wind, and constant platter of rain. He stretched, body going long, something in his restless legs popping, but so satisfying. A yawn worked its way up and James fell into the couch cushions as he let it out.

Banging, on the front door. Loud, persistent, thundering over the storm outside. They all froze; Euphemia snapped her book shut. Fleamont was up first, wand in hand, followed by James and Lily who hovered near. 

Whoever was outside pounded on the door again; unease washed over James, cold and prickling, but his breath fell out of his lungs when his father opened the door to reveal Sirius Black.

Rain clung to him, soaking through his clothes. No cloak that James could see, just a fine pair of tailored robes that looked down right flimsy for the weather. Sirius’ hair was drenched, plastered against his face and— oh, Merlin, that was blood trickling from his temple. He clung to the door frame with a white-knuckled grip. 

“Please,” he murmured to Fleamont, to James, eyes darting frantically between them. “I need…”

Euphemia breezed past James and Fleamont, prying Sirius from the door, ushering him inside. Her hands grasped Sirius’ shoulders, guiding him to the staircase and whispering a series of questions, not minding the trail of rainwater Sirius left in his wake. 

Halfway up the stairs, she turned and locked eyes with James. “A cup of tea for your friend, won’t you dear…?”

James, staring at Sirius’ drenched back with wide eyes, could only nod and murmur, “yeah…” Lily sidled up to him and slipped an arm through his, clinging to him, staring in bewilderment edging toward fright.

Because the thing was Sirius and James weren’t friends.

  
  
In fact, James wasn’t exactly sure this wasn’t a trap because he was quite certain Sirius Black was a Death Eater.

* * *

_July, 1978_

The day after James’ graduation from Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore paid a visit to the Potter manor for tea in the garden. Euphemia served lemon biscuits and pound cake flavored with roses cut from the garden. Bumblebees buzzed past James’ ear and an idle wind ruffled at the lace edging of the tablecloth and the crabapple trees that shaded them. 

Dumbledore’s eyes glittered as he turned his face toward the birdsong, as he said, soft and low, “I trust you’ve practiced more than just basic dueling. Although Alastor will require further training.”

“Of course,” James answered, swallowing down some chai.

“I’m sure there’s no need to mention the dangers…”

James ducked his head, reaching for a new lemon biscuit, to hide the somber shadow dancing across his face. “I’ve read the papers, Professor, I know…” What’s been reported, who’d been murdered, or targeted, or gone missing… 

Dumbledore nodded absently; the sunlight caught the glittering silver of his beard. It highlighted the amusement in his eyes as he looked to James. “You must call me Albus, James, if we’re to be working together. I believe you’ve earned the right.”

James’ mouth twisted and he opened it to test out the name but a lifetime of respectful habit stopped him from giving it voice. “Nope, too weird. Give me a couple decades…Sir.” 

A soft chuckle, and then Dumbledore turned his attention to the open French doors leading into the manor. “Ah, there’s Monty. He’s consented, now that you’re out of school and officially in the Order, to offer this manor as a safe house…”

* * *

Summer cooled into a brisk September. 

James, dressed in a plain traveling cloak, wandered Diagon Alley at a leisurely pace. Euphemia, short on breath these days, had sent James out with a shopping list so she could have a lie in. 

… Was what he told anyone who stopped him on the streets, smiling charmingly as he gestured to the bag levitating beside him. Ever the dutiful son.

They didn’t know the pocket of his traveling cloak was spelled to hide his Invisibility Cloak.They didn’t know that James did his best to keep to the sidelines of the Alley, tracking everyone who walked by, marking those who hurried and those who idled, and where. 

He’d just made his way to Potage’s and stopped to glance at the display of cauldrons, wondering about the current state of Fleamont’s lab, when his ears perked at a gravelly voice coming toward him.

“Hurry your arse up, Black, they don’t like to be kept waiting…”

James knew that voice, having spent seven years at Hogwarts antagonizing it. He affected boredom as he glanced back the way he came and spotted the lumbering form of Mulciber in a dark cloak. A scowl had been permanently etched onto his face but it’d deepened now as he hurried alongside a taller, haughtier man.

This man— Black, James assumed— swept his long dark hair from his eyes and said, unconcerned, “they’ll wait for me.”

Mulciber threw his dark scowl at Black, his voice dipping into threatening. “Best leave your arrogance behind, Black. You’re not better than us, just because you went to that pretentious French school.” 

“‘Course I am,” Black replied, jutting his chin up with that arrogance. “Otherwise, why would Mother have sent me in the first place? Only the best for her heir.”

Shock jolted through James as he realized— Sirius Black, of course. The mysterious heir to the Black family, sent to Beauxbatons rather than Hogwarts with the rest of Wizarding Britain. It appeared, now, he’d returned to England and, James thought grimly, into the welcoming arms of Voldemort’s following. 

Chill wind swept through the Alley, chasing Black and Mulciber as they hurried past James, who turned back to the window display before he could be properly noticed. James checked his watch, and nodded to himself. Time to go.

Luckily, the nearest Apparation point lay just around the corner from where Mulciber and Black were headed. James went to it, checked he had no audience, and subtly pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his enlarged pocket and draped it over himself. For good measure, he flicked his wand; a loud _crack_ sounded, and James hurried back to where he guessed his quarry had gone. 

  
  


_“Patrol only,_ Potter, how many times have I told you—”

“Dunno, sir.” James shrugged. “Might not have heard over all your rants about _constant vigilance._ Did that— managed to sit in on a meeting with two known Death Eaters and their new recruit.”

“And _when_ ,” Moody growled back as he paced the small, windowless room, “did I ever instruct you to do that _alone?”_

James crossed his arms, stubborn. “Waiting for backup would’ve taken too long.”

Moody’s jaw was tight, his gaze narrow but unreadable. “Your hubris will get you killed one day, Potter.”

James managed to hold his stare for only a moment before he had to look away, his arrogance warming into chagrin. He reached for the glass of water on the worn table and took a long gulp. Moody stalked over to the empty chair and kept on watching James, expression now flat. James found the fraying rug fascinating.

Silence, thick and uncomfortable had settled in on the sparse room by the time Moody spoke again, satisfied that James had stewed long enough. “What did you hear?”  
Setting aside the glass of water, James leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and made his voice sound undaunted. “Sirius Black is back in England. Ready and willing to join the Death Eaters.”

“Fuck,” Moody replied.

* * *

James’ favorite stake outs were, without question, with Lily Evans. Especially when the freezing bite of winter had her cuddling up close to him for warmth. 

It’d taken a while for friendship to grow between them but seventh year had been kind to them, once James set aside his obnoxious arrogance and Lily cut off ties with Severus Snape. Being Head Boy and Girl together allowed them the time to grow close enough that, whenever James thought of her, he grew warm all over. 

Convenient, really, since they were currently huddled in a snowy forest in the small hours of night and his ass was possibly frozen solid.

Teeth chattering and shivering almost violently, Lily whispered a steady stream of curses as they sat watch over a suspected Death Eater safe house. James tried his best to stay professional and not completely smitten. 

“I’m going to murder Moody,” she said, wrapping her arms around James’ and smushing up as close as possible. Completely impractical should the worst come, this position, but James wasn’t about to point that out. “Why the fuck do we have to keep watch in the dead of fucking winter?”

“I know a way to stay warm,” James said, cheeky, just to see what she’d say.

“Buy me dinner first, Potter,” came her grumble.

He laughed, his heart tripping over itself, and flicked her fringe with his gloved hand. “Not what I was gonna suggest but sure. Dinner. Date?”

Her surprised quiet was almost too much for his skittering heart but a slow smile spread across her face soon enough, banishing any anxious worries about his proposition. But then a fallen twig snapped, and the moment was lost.

They untangled in time to dodge two, bright red stunning spells that instead ricocheted off the trees they’d been sat against. Splintered wood and snow rained down on James and Lily; he threw up a protection spell around them while Lily shot a stunning spell of her own. 

Scouts, James thought as he leapt toward Lily and pulled her away from a pale blue hex; it illuminated the night around them, the snow glowing unearthly white, and James saw a dark hooded figure a few yards away.

_Shit fuck—_

James fired off a stunning spell; it missed, but the impact as it cracked against a tree trunk sent a spray of bark at the figure, and blew back his hood. Long dark hair, light colored eyes, haughty face. Sirius Black.

“Go on,” he said— to Lily, James realized— “is it a date or not?”

Cold horror seized James; Black had been there, listening in on them for who knows how long. He swore, and shot another hex to Black who dodged it with infuriating grace. 

_“James,”_ Lily cried, breathless with fear and looking over his shoulder at the house. 

The garden doors had opened, spilling golden light and several dark figures into the stone terrace. James heard shouting, and then more curses shot toward them; most were aimed too high, meant more for their general direction, but it made avoiding them difficult. Lily’s hand tore out of James’ as they ducked behind a pair of trees. 

_Crack!_

The curses stopped, and the house grounds fell into a charged silence.

Somewhere in the forest, Sirius’ voice came, hushed like snow. “He’s here.”

Blood drained from James, leaving him dizzy with terror. Heart a painful hammer in his chest, he locked eyes with Lily and reached out for her hand. He turned on the spot, Apparating them away half an instant later. 

Green light shot through empty air, right where their hands had been. 

Moody wasn’t pleased. 

He hovered over James and Lily at their own safe house, while the two did their best to warm up by the roaring fire and under several thick, musty blankets. Lily’s teeth had finally stopped chattering and some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She still trembled though. They both did, but only half from cold. 

“Black say anything before Voldemort showed up?” James and Lily shared a look, which Moody interpreted as an affirmative. He grunted, “spit it out.”

“Er,” James coughed. “He asked if it was a date.” 

“Date?” Moody’s eyes darted between the two. “What’s a date? A future Death Eater meeting?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” Lily whispered, cheeks pink as she stared at James. “How’s Saturday? Six?”

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

“What are you—” The frustrated growl of realization that came out of Moody was barely human, and both James and Lily jumped when he slammed a fist down on the table between them. “Dammit, Potter! Now I have to separate you two.” 

Moody stormed from the room to do whatever he did after debriefing Order members and James and Lily were left alone, sheepishness fading fast into butterfly anticipation. James had lost his favorite watch partner but, as he reached for Lily’s hand, it was worth it. 

  
  


Peter and Remus, when they heard the news, barely reacted. 

“I thought you were already dating?” Peter glanced at Remus to confirm if he’d missed anything.

Remus, still catching his breath from his night as a werewolf, rolled his eyes. “Might as well have been.”

James, in the middle of unpacking the veritable feast Euphemia had prepared, scowled. “Thanks for your enthusiasm.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus deadpanned, and swiped a meaty sandwich and proceeded to devour it, never mind his hands were still forest dirty from the night. 

Birdsong slowly filled the forest as they ate; exhaustion weighed on the three, the rosy sunrise serving as a reminder of their sleepless night. James’ shoulder ached from a bout of wrestling with the wolf hours earlier, and Peter still jerked at every snapping sound from further in the forest. Remus was pale, his movements sluggish, and he ate through Effie’s food as if it were his last meal. 

“You should come for dinner sometime,” James said casually, to both of them, though he angled himself toward Remus. “Mum would love to fuss over you.”

Remus swallowed slowly, thoughtfully, and he pulled in a breath. “Actually. I’ve been meaning to mention. Dumbledore’s got an assignment for me. I might— might be busy, for a while.”

So far the war had brought Lily to James but he’d known _this_ was coming. He’d been warned at the beginning, been preparing himself that the war might pull him and his friends away. It was only a matter of time. 

And yet, now that it’d come, he wasn’t prepared for how it sat so unsettled over him. His breath hitched and unease crept all down his spine. Peter seemed to be in a similar state of trepidation with his face pale as snow. 

Still shrugging off his werewolf heightened senses, Remus noticed immediately and shook his head. “I won’t start for a few weeks; I’ll come by this weekend.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, voice a daze.

James’ heart was a paperweight, and he glanced between his two closest friends. “You better. Fuck the war— it won’t break up seven and a half years of brotherhood.”

* * *

James woke to something metallic clogging his senses. His head pounded, his body stiff, aching. His face itched, something crusting it; he raised a shaking hand, feeling at his temple where the throbbing was the worst. Blood. 

Fuck. His mission— information grab— had failed spectacularly, then. 

Voices, heated and snapping— James dropped his hand, screwing up his brow in concentration. Trying to push aside the pain. 

“You don’t know him, Black,” came a sneering voice, “arrogant, insufferable. The world would better off without him—”

“We’re doing nothing without the Dark Lord’s approval, _Snivellus,”_ interrupted another drawling voice. 

Stunned silence, from both the sneering voice and even James who, despite his current situation, couldn’t help the snigger that rose up from the old nickname. 

“Oh, did I say something wrong, Snivellus? Isn’t what they called you at school? Gotta say, it suits you. Kudos to whoever came up with it.”

_“Black…”_

“He’s awake.”

Shit. James wrenched his eyes open, blinking away both pain and brightness, to find himself in a sparsely furnished room not unlike the Order’s safe houses. A fire roared from a plain fireplace, surrounded by a pair of threadbare armchairs and a sofa whose legs had been eaten through by rodents. 

James himself lay by the fireplace so he got a view of hooked-nosed Severus Snape and haughty Sirius Black. The former was perched on one of the armchairs, clutching it with white knuckles and glaring black eyes at James. Black stood by the fireplace, leaning an insouciant elbow on the mantle while his other hand held a wand. 

No— two wands. One of them James’. 

James’ stomach curdled and he groaned as he rolled off his back, planting bloody palms on the rough wooden floor to push himself up. 

“No need for your dramatic heroics, Potter” Snape hissed with seven years worth of hatred. “We need only call our Lord. There is nothing you can do against us or him.”

“Fuck off, Snivellus.”

“Was it you?” Black was close to smirking, the way he regarded James. “The charming nickname. It’s a shame, all the things I missed out on whilst in France. Still catching up, see.”

“Black.” Snape snapped. “We must prepare—”

“For the Dark Lord, yes yes.” Black dismissed Snape with a roll of his gray eyes— and then he snapped his fingers and pointed at James. “Oh, never found out, how’d your date with the red head go?”

Lily’s image, beautiful and radiant, smiling at James, flared in his mind and he grit his teeth and spat a mouthful of blood at Black for daring to mention her. “Go to hell.”

Black’s eyes flicked at the bloody mess at his feet for a moment and then shrugged. “Congratulations.”

“Red head…” Snape looked between them for a moment, and when they landed on James a second time, he saw realization flash across his face. _“You—”_

 _“Enough,_ Snape.” Black frowned, put off by Snape’s vehemence. He glanced at James again, considering with narrowed eyes. “I have an idea of what to do with him.”

“Yes.” Snape’s breath was heavy with rage. “As do I.” He stood and tore the sleeve of his black robe up his forearm, revealing a twisting snake tattoo. He brought his wand up, tipping it to his inked flesh in slow reverence. 

James watched with sinking helplessness, wounded and utterly grounded by his stupid, foolish lack of wand. Moody’s voice growled in his mind from months ago. 

_Your hubris will get you killed._

Well. It seemed that day had finally come and all he’d done to fight back was spit blood at Sirius Black’s feet. 

“No.” 

Snape’s wand stilled, a hair’s width away from the Mark, and he glared at Black. His face was unreadable as the fire’s light chased shadows across his aristocratic features.

“The Dark Lord will kill him, that’s assured,” Black said. “Perhaps we should take advantage first. Learn what he knows.”

Snape’s voice was dangerously cold. “A waste of time, Black.”

“Information is power.”

A pause, filled by the crackle and snap of the fire and James’ own slow, pained breathing. And then— “Fine.” Snape turned his wand on James. _“Crucio.”_

Burning agony, as intense James had ever felt; he let out a piercing scream that drowned every other sound around him. Snape cut off the curse, and James’ scream in the same second, and waited a few beats for him to catch his breath. 

“The names of every member of the Order of the Phoenix, tell us now” Snape said, almost gleeful as he watched James writhe from phantom pain. His wand lifted, and he set the curse upon James again.

He’d been trained for this by Moody whose philosophy was to expect the worst in every scenario. But Snape had seven years of pent up, pure hatred for James and so the strength of his curse could not compete. 

When the curse lifted again, James tried to remember how to breathe. Slowly, carefully, he pulled cool air past his raw throat, into his lungs. His body felt split apart by the seams, every cell in him punctured. 

Glass shattered. 

“Fuck.” 

Black and Snape ducked down as spells and hexes rained through the broken windows. Wood splintered, cracked, as spells hit the walls; the fire hissed and spat flame. James rolled away on instinct, diving for the nearest cover he could get: the second armchair. 

Black let out a few hexes but soon swore, encumbered by James’ wand still in his hand. Without thought, he tossed it away. It clattered on the floor, rolling to a stop mere feet from James, whose heart skipped at seeing it. 

Freedom. Safety. It lay in that stick of mahogany dulled by years of practice and use, love even. 

Black seemed to realize his mistake and whipped his head, catching James’ eye. Debris shot through the air between them, the fire popped; time seemed to slow. 

And Black and James both dove for the wand at the same time. 

James’ hand brushed against Black’s, and they both grabbed hold of the wand. But Black wasn’t dating a muggleborn from the wrong part of Cokeworth and therefore wasn’t expecting a right hook to clip him in the eye.

Insignificant, the pain flaring in his fist; James cast a stunning spell at Black with lightning speed, hitting him square in the chest, sending him crumbling to the floor. Snape whirled at the commotion, just in time to see James do the same to him. If he weren’t in the middle of a crossfire, he might pause to appreciate the comical expression of shock frozen on Snape’s greasy face. 

Instead, James staggered to his feet, an unwilling moan escaping when he set his weight wrong. Red sparkes sailed past his ear— a blind aim from outside— but James dodged it, stumbling onto Snape’s foot. 

“Fucker…” James gave him another kick, nevermind how weak, and then leaned heavily onto the other armchair and sent his Patronus dashing through the window in a silver streak. 

The hexes ceased immediately. 

The next time James woke was in his own bed, a soft hand holding his. Lily’s green eyes were lined with silver, and her chin wobbled as she said, “oh, James…”

“Had worse,” James croaked. His voice was gravel, dry as a desert, but mercifully missing the metallic taste from the Death Eater house. “Ever been hit by a bludger?”

It earned him a halfhearted smack on his shoulder. _“James…”_

James laid his hand on hers and squeezed as best he could. “‘M fine…” Lily pressed a gentle kiss against his temple, right on his bandaged wound. 

Peter showed up later with a large bottle of firewhiskey he managed to smuggle past Euphemia. He climbed into James’ bed and conjured up two glasses and poured James a generous dram. It burned down James’ throat and warmed his core.

Quiet had long settled over them, James’ eyes fluttering shut with pleasant drowsiness, when Peter spoke up again.

“Think it’ll ever end?”

With effort, James opened his heavy eyes and found Peter staring into his empty glass, avoiding James’s stare. He seemed so small in James’ giant bed, so pale in the golden candlelight and red glow of the bedsheets. Soft, fright edged with shame.

James took a few breaths and tried to shake away the sleep pulling him down. He thumped Peter’s arm affectionately. “Yeah, Pete. Just gotta keep going.”

* * *

Between Order assignments and work, the chances of meeting with Remus and Peter had diminished significantly over the past nine months. They were obligated, now, as sworn brothers, to celebrate Remus’ birthday. 

Citing the need to _get out of the house_ for the night, they opted for a muggle pub. James was too well known, and Remus too undercover, for wizarding ones. Peter was possibly the only truly anonymous one of the trio these days…

None of that stopped them from properly celebrating Remus’ birthday. Landmark wise, the number— nineteen— wasn’t anything special, not according to societal norms, but… most nineteen year olds weren’t fighting in a guerrilla war. For them, for all they’d lived through since graduation, it was a remarkable day. 

So, they did their best to commemorate it with shots, as far from Moody’s watchful, vigilant eye as possible.. 

The pub, smokey and musty from sweat and years of spilt booze, had gone a bit fuzzy for James. His body felt a bit loose, his smiles silly, when the pub’s door chimed open and a gust of early spring air swept through the bar. James welcomed refresh of it as he leaned against Remus, laughing at— _something,_ he didn’t know anymore— and he turned his face toward the cool air.

His laughter died, his smile fading to nothing when he caught Sirius Black’s wide, gray eyes. 

The pub’s clamour stilled, the noise going muffled, as the world narrowed in on the Death Eater. Shadows brushed under his eyes and his shoulders were slumped but the moment he locked eyes with James, he cracked his neck on each side and squared himself, familiar haughtiness coming back in ripples as he wove his way to their booth.

“Merlin’s sagging balls, _shit.”_

Remus and Peter turned, following James’ horror, tensing to steel as Black slipped down onto the seat beside Peter. “Evening, gentlemen, fancy meeting you here.” He turned gray eyes on Remus, indulging in a long look that ended in a smirk. “You never said you have such a handsome friend, Potter.”

Remus remained impassive, not reacting or saying anything, his mouth a flat line. If Black recognized him… but no, Black was too high in Voldemort’s ranks to deal with a lowly werewolf… 

“What are you doing here, Black?”

Black let out a bored sigh. “Isn’t it obvious?” He flashed Remus a coy smile as he swiped his pint and finished it off in a few, long gulps, and slowly licked the remaining drops from his lips. “Dark, bold. Good taste— sure you don’t want to tumble into bed?”

Remus cleared his throat and said, unimpressed, “Christ, does that actually work?”

Black barked out a laugh and winked. “With surprising success.” Then he turned his attention to Peter and frowned, eyes narrowing, assessing. “Have I met you before? Seem familiar…or maybe you’re just one of those types. Blend in anywhere…” 

Peter went absolutely pale and he looked at James in appeal. 

Black, uncaring, glanced around the pub and nodded in approval. “Nice place, by the way. Off the beaten trail, good for laying low…”

“We’re three against one, Black,” James cut in, hand open, in a reach for his wand. Ready at a moment’s notice. “Whatever you’re planning with these muggles…”

But Black shook his head, his smirk falling, voice low. “My fight isn’t with the deaths of inconsequential muggles, Potter, don’t worry.” Gray eyes followed a passing waitress, and then found a couple flirting in a dark booth in a far corner, and he grew quiet. “Did you know Snape is watching Lily Evans?”

James sucked in a sharp breath, heart about stopping. “Is that a threat?”

Black shrugged and absently dragged a long finger through the water rings on the table. “You know he wasn’t pleased it’s _you_ she’s dating. Better keep an eye out.” He glanced at each of them in turn, letting his words sink in and then flicked the water off his finger. “I’d better go. Thanks for the drink.”

He stood; they all stood, drinks clattering on the table. James wavered, aware that he was still quite drunk and at a disadvantage. Black must’ve noticed because the smirk was back as he watched James steady himself. He winked one last time at Remus and left, weaving back through the crowd with easy grace. 

The moment he was gone and another cool breeze washed over the pub, James sank hard back onto his seat, dropping his head into his hands. Breath, he told himself, slow. Steady. 

Remus’ hand touched his shoulder and he startled, his breath catching again. Remus looked down in apology for surprising him. “Go to Lily. Peter and I will stay here a bit longer. Just in case.”

James nodded and stood, numb, clapping Remus on the arm in absent thanks. Black was nowhere to be seen outside, which he supposed should be a relief but James felt none of it as he Apparated from the pub’s back alley to Lily’s flat.

Lily answered his pounding knocking within moments, her pale, wary face peeking through the few inches the chain lock would allow the door to open. “James?” The door closed again, the chain slid free, and then she pulled the door open fully with a whoosh. “What are you doing here?”

Beyond her, on a peachy colored sofa, sat Mary and Marlene holding a wine glass each. Judging by the emptiness of the wine bottle, they were several glasses deep in their well deserved girls’ night. James charged past Lily, past the other girls, and to the far window. He peered through the white curtains, down onto the dark street below. 

“James. What’s going on?”

James’ eyes traveled up the apartment building across the way, glancing at any window with light, and then those without, but of course Snape knew better than to leave obvious traces. He checked the next building— and then jasmine filled the air and Lily’s hand slipped into his. 

“James,” she said, eyes soft as she looked over him, as she brought her other hand up to brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

The other girls were gone now, probably to wait in Mary’s bedroom, their wine abandoned on the table. James took in the rest of the flat, the sofa she so loved, the small potions station in the corner, cramped with equipment. The colorful, mismatched set of dishes dirtied with their dinner remains. The uneven coat of paint from when Marlene had drunkenly helped them paint the dining space Gryffindor red. 

It was a home, this tiny space, Lily’s home, and James’ gut twisted at the thought of it now threatened. His eyes sought Lily’s green ones. “Move in with me?”

Lily blinked with surprise. “With your parents? You must be drunk.”

James dragged a hand through his hair, pulling at it, and nodded. “Yeah, I am. But— there’s something you need to know…”

  
  


They found Snape’s secret flat the week after Lily and the girls were installed in the Potter’s guest house. Curiously, he’d gone the muggle route and not even cloaked it under protection spells, placing as much trust in muggle anonymity as they all did.

The view from the window wasn’t perfect, wasn’t fully looking at Lily’s apartment, and James supposed that should have been a small mercy— except it wasn’t, because the slimy bastard still set up shop here all the same. 

Bare bones, was how he’d describe it: just a bed with a bundled set of sheets and several dirty dishes. A small dresser with only a few sets of clothes, and a few photographs of a younger Lily waving cheerfully from a Hogwarts courtyard.

It made Lily sick to her stomach, and she ran; James chased after her, holding her tight in his arms and wondering why.

Why did Black tip them off?

  
  


* * *

Hubris, James thought, as he stared down the dark, earth packed passage below the ancient manor. Fighting, curses and hexes, still sounded in the manor; great bangs of breaking furniture and bright, colorful flashes. 

Protocol, always in Moody’s barking voice these days, told James to wait for back up before diving down the passage. 

But he’d seen Sirius Black run down minutes before, seemingly alone, leaving the rest of the raid behind in favor of— what, to hide? Naturally, James followed. Given his own experience with secret passages in ancient buildings, he knew there was a good chance it led away, to safety. To a literal escape. 

Blinding blue light flashed above, bright enough that it illuminated a few feet of the passage. James bounced on his feet, his hand tight around his wand, telling himself to wait, to _think_ — and then a short, hooded Death Eater came sprinting through the manicured courtyard bushes. 

_“Confrindo!”_

_“Shit.”_

James dove out of the way; a great explosion roared as the blasting curse hit the passage’s stone arch, crumbling and sending chunks of rumble raining down on him. Swearing colorfully, James ran further into the passage; dust kicked up in huge clouds that choked his lungs. 

He coughed, stumbled as far as he could, until something clipped him on the back of his head and everything went black. 

Sirius Black, coated head to toe in dirt, and sitting with his arms resting on his drawn up knees stared down at James when he came-to minutes or hours later. Orange light filled the small cave, a small glowing orb hovering above them the source.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Jim.” Black huffed a hollow laugh at his own joke, but then it faded. He watched James grope through the rumble for his wand. “No use, it’s not here. Probably lost in the cave in. If it makes you feel any better, mine got snapped.” He picked up two splintered ends of wood and shrugged before carelessly tossing them aside. “At least I got this light going before you barged in.”

James’ eyes darted from the broken wand, to Black, to the absolutely wrecked passage entrance. The earth had broken utterly from the blasting curse, covering the opening.

“Completely trapped,” Black sighed wistfully as he glanced ‘round the cave they were in. “Guess I got arrogant, thinking this would lead somewhere… Wonder who will find us first, your side or mine?”

James looked as well; there were only a few broken up wine barrels and a few tree roots, choked by old spider webs, jutting through the earth above them. The air was thick and moist from the early summer rains that’d poured in. No passage to the other side. 

Just him and a Death Eater. 

With pained, moaning effort, James sat up and backed himself in the wall opposite Black. His hair brushed at some low hanging roots, causing bits of earth to crumble into it.

Black glanced over at him. “Snape caused a fuss a few months ago, said Evans disappeared…”

James clenched his jaw but said nothing. 

“You know,” Black said, still watching James, seeming completely at ease with their situation. “I’ve always wondered what it would’ve been like if I’d gone to Hogwarts. I’m told my whole family was Slytherin… would I have been as well?”

“Yes,” James hissed, “I know your lot. Arrogant purebloods, steeped in old prejudice and bigotry.”

“You’re pureblood, too,” Black pointed out. “Oh, but they call your type blood traitors here. Gryffindor philanthropists. Pure… _hearted_ , more like.” He sniffed out a laugh, and his voice went soft. “Yeah, would’ve been nice…”

Black trailed off, and he looked away, his gray eyes unreadable, though his body told a different story. James searched through his haughtiness, the boredom, the exhaustion. “What are you on about?”

Black frowned. “Just sort of interesting, the families we’re born into, the environments we grow up in. No choice, on either count… If I hadn’t been sent to France— No way I would’ve been chummy with Snape but… ever think we could’ve been friends?”

Unwillingly, James thought of all the easy banter Black threw at him, and how he’d sniggered at hearing him say _Snivellus_ and— the twisting tattoo peaking through a tear in his sleeve. “With the company you keep? Unlikely.”

Black followed James’ gaze to his tattoo and nodded, curiously remorseful. “Fair.”

It was completely possible James was horribly concussed; it was the only explanation for this conversation. Sirius Black, heir to the notorious Black family and Death Eater to Lord fucking Voldemort, had called the Potters purehearted and what— regretted his path in life? 

James dropped his forehead into a hand and rubbed small circles into his temple. “No fucking way…”

Black shouldn’t have known what he was talking about, but he offered up a secretive, rueful smile like he did. “You’d be surprised.”

James opened his mouth to say something— what, he didn’t know— but the caved in passage gave a great rumble. Some of the larger boulders shook free and the air filled with the sounds of scraping and crumbling. James shot to his feet, stumbling yet again, but Black stayed where he was.

“Sounds like that craggy Auror— Moody?” 

Eyes narrowed on the shifting earth, James listened and yeah— someone barked out orders. Relief flooded through him, and he slumped against his wall of earth, closing his eyes to bask in it. 

“You should know…” Black said, almost too soft to be heard over the rescue; James cracked open an eye and regarded him wearily. “There’s a spy in your ranks. Better find the rat soon…”

James straightened, cold all of a sudden. “What?”

But the last of the fallen passage opened up and Moody’s scarred face appeared through the dust. He limped himself into the musty cave and froze upon seeing Black sitting there with barely a care in the world.

“Evening, Moody.” Black gave a cheeky wave that Moody did not return, and then rolled his eyes at his wand. “Get it over with, old man.”

Bright red filled the cave and Black fell over, stunned and unconscious. 

“Where’s his wand?”

“Snapped.” 

Moody nodded, satisfied. “And yours?” 

It took a quick _accio_ to get James’ wand flying free from the piled up earth and stone but James caught it, grateful, more of that relief making him weak in his knees. Moody gave James an assessing look and quickly determined him to be fit and able. He made to leave but James stopped him, and eyed Black, still lying on his side.

“I need to speak to Dumbledore.”

Silver moonlight lit the grounds of Hogwarts, a mere two days from being full. From Professor Dumbledore’s office, James had a decent view of the Whomping Willow and he tracked the path from the castle to the tree, subtly carved into the grass from years of Remus and Madam Pomfrey making the trek every full moon. 

Moody prowled the office, breaking up the portraits’ snoring with his menacing growls. “Hundred galleons it’s Lupin. All that time in the werewolves pack…Seen what he looks like after a full moon these days?”

Yeah. Remus came staggering out of the woods by the Potter manor just last month, robes torn and smelling of every wild thing along the way and flinching away from James when he tried to help him inside. Remus had never done that before.

And before that, just a few months ago, in a random, hazey muggle pub: the subtle flush that dusted his cheeks when Sirius Black called him handsome. Funny, how James would remember that now… 

But, Remus hadn’t flirted back. 

James’ memory pivoted, so that he remembered Peter now. Pale Peter, shrinking from Black. 

_Seem familiar_ , he’d said… _Blend in anywhere…_

James closed his eyes. “It’s not Remus.”

_Better find the rat soon…_

Moody stopped in his tracks and he barked out, _“what?”_

The office grew so very quiet. James looked back out the window, down to the Whomping Willow; he never knew, or refused to acknowledge, that Dumbledore’s office had such a clear view. He must have seen so much over the years. 

Like two teenage boys, mighty in their hubris, becoming a stag and rat in the shadows and chasing after a werewolf month after month…

His hands were trembling when he turned away from the window, his heart so impossibly heavy, too large for his chest. Dumbledore stared at him with piercing blue eyes, too intense, too expectant, but James forced himself to meet them.

“It’s not Remus…” 

* * *

When James was fifteen, and autumn made the Forbidden Forest glow like embers, he saw the sunrise with Peter. 

It was a wonder that they could, having spent the entire night running through the forest with a werewolf, but once Remus was safely stowed back up in the Shrieking Shack, James and Peter stumbled their way to the lake’s shore and laid along the crisp grass.

James’ legs were sore from all the running, and his chest ached from where Moony had rammed into him; he was also pretty sure his ankle was bleeding from a scratch, but…

“We did it,” he breathed, and then laughed, his face tilting toward the mottled clouds high in the sky. “Wormtail, we did it.”

The sigh that escaped Peter was almost delirious. “Animagi. Us— fifteen, and animagi…”

Dirt smudged Peter’s face, and James was most definitely in a similar state. They both barely held back from shivering in the morning chill. But it didn’t diminish the euphoria that kept them anchored by the lake, watching the sun begin to sparkle over its murky depths.

James tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms ‘round them and tried to memorize this feeling, the exact shade of blue brightening the sky. “So,” he said, with no small amount of wonder, “this is the rest of our lives. You ready for it?”

“Yeah, Prongs.” Peter’s voice was strong in its confidence. “Whenever you are.”

* * *

Peter seemed delighted to see them, smiling wide when he opened the door to reveal James and Remus waiting in the hall. He’d lost a bit of weight since they graduated from Hogwarts a year ago, enough for his cheekbones to sharpen. Dark circles clung under his eyes and his cheeks had lost their childhood flush some time ago.

War could do that to a man... 

Peter’s flat was furnished just enough to be comfortable but other than a few pictures tacked randomly onto the walls, he’d not gone out of his way to settle in too much. He had, at least, accumulated a respectable amount of alcohol in his cabinet, which he fussed about with in the kitchen.

“Been a while for the three of us,” he said brightly, pulling out three mismatched glasses from another cabinet. “Long few months… I’m thinking whiskey tonight.”

James and Remus shared a shadowed look, before the latter claimed a spot on the couch and opted for saying nothing. James glanced at the photos on the nearest wall. 

“Sounds good, Pete,” he said, and then had to clear his throat, and look away because— fuck, that was them, just after sixth year, laughing and arms slung around each other’s shoulders. 

“Full moon’s tomorrow, Moony,” Peter carried on, oblivious as he poured them all a drink. “You sure you’re up for drinking? Don’t you have to go to the pack soon?”

Remus _did_ look rather peaky, more so than usual, which could explain away the wince he gave when Peter used his nickname. Even after swallowing, his voice was still rough as he said, “‘M fine, Wormtail.”

Peter came out of the kitchen, carefully balancing the three glasses in his hands. He passed one off to James and offered another to Remus; he’d just taken a seat, just taken a sip of his own whiskey, when he finally took a proper look at them. His smile fell. 

“Merlin,” he said, “why’re you acting like someone died?” Now both James and Remus winced and Peter’s confusion shifted to horror. “Oh! There was a raid last night— fuck, who…?”

James and Remus shared another look, ending in the latter now draining the entirety of his drink. James followed suit and let the burn of the alcohol drain through the crumbling cracks in his resolve. 

“Hey Pete.” He glanced at the photo again, at that time when their worries were reserved for NEWTS and what part of the forest they’d explore next. “Remember that first full moon we had with Remus? And after we saw the sunrise… d’you remember what we talked about?”

“Er.” Peter’s brow pinched together and he glanced at Remus who resolutely stared ahead. “Said something about, well, we’d done it yeah? Become animagi. And the rest of our lives or something…”

Remus sprang up from the couch and went into the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey. His hands shook a bit when he unscrewed the cap and took a gulp straight. Peter frowned up at him, but didn’t stop him. 

“And you said,” James continued softly, clenching his fists. “That’d you be ready when I was. Rest of our lives, Pete…”

“Yeah...” Peter said, uncertain now, looking between the two, so pale. Not daring to lift his whiskey or move. 

“We want to know,” Remus began, staring up at a spot on the carpet— from one of their drunken card nights, James remembered, when one of them thought red wine was a good idea. “When did that change?”

Feeling sick to his stomach at these memories creeping on him, James added, “and why?”

Watching Peter figure it out almost brought James to his knees. James hoped he was wrong, hoped that Peter would deny it and pledge his continued loyalty but the moment everything snapped into place, his entire body wilted.

“You don’t understand, James…”

“ _Fuck.”_ Remus fell against the wall and dropped his head in his hands. 

James’ throat was impossibly thick, his eyes burning, and he ran a rough hand through his hair. “Yeah, Peter, I don’t understand. And I hope I never have to.”

“Prongs—” Peter rose from the couch, looking between them. Remus stared up at the ceiling now. “Moony—”

“Don’t,” Remus choked out, and then pushed off the wall, going to the door, smacking away the beseeching hand Peter reached out. 

Moody, along with several Aurors James only knew in name, stood behind the door when Remus yanked it open. Peter’s breath was ragged now, his chest heaving in panic as he realized— realized that it was over and, oh _fuck_ , James looked away, dragging a hand over his wet eyes now.

“James,” Peter tried, as the Aurors surrounded him, as Moody pointed his wand at him. “Please— I didn’t mean—”

It didn’t matter what Peter meant, the result was still plain and simple: in the end, after everything, he’d still betrayed them. Remus left the flat first, swift, Peter’s pleading deaf on his ears. James only glanced over to see that someone had conjured a pair of handcuffs around Peter’s wrist and the sight was— he sucked in a sharp breath and followed Remus. 

Lily waited in the hall, her eyes impossibly sad, her arms open for him, and he went straight for her.

* * *

Take a few days, Moody advised him when all was said and done, and James’ heart felt trampled over. 

So, he awoke to a brewing storm and helped Euphemia with her correspondence. He attempted cinnamon rolls. He stared out the window, at the garden and Euphemia’s roses, and remembered the summer just a year ago, when everything had been idyllic and Dumbledore offered him a way to save his world. He sat with his family in the evening, eating gulab jamun and diving into a Transfiguration book. 

He tried to forget that Remus had returned to the werewolf pack, to endure another full moon away. He tried to forget that on an island hundreds of miles away, Peter was being tormented by the memories of his betrayal…

And then someone pounded on the front door and Sirius Black stumbled in with blood on his temple and pleading, _please._

* * *

James surged forward after his mother, ready to defend his home from Black, but Fleamont caught his arm, stopping him. 

“Son, wait,” he said, too calm, and then swiftly closed the front door. He had his wand out, and he took a centering breath, and then wordlessly cast a Patronus. “The dog star is barking.” 

It sped off in a blindingly silver trail; James watched it disappear into the storm and then he jerked toward his father. “What the fuck?”

“James, honestly, don’t be uncouth.”

“Yes, because now is the time for manners,” Lily said faintly, staring up where Euphemia and Black had gone. 

They could hear Euphemia moving around upstairs, no doubt gathering medical supplies whilst herding Black into a bed. Fleamont touched James’ arm again, getting his attention, and nodded toward the kitchen.

“Come, your mother asked for tea. I can explain while we make it…”

Eight years ago, Walburga Black, matriarch of the ancient and most noble house of Black, got it into her head that education at Hogwarts was not prestigious enough for her two sons, the future of her family name. 

What Walburga didn’t consider, when she sent her sons to be immersed in the family’s illustrious French roots, was that France had been in the center of the dark wizard Grindelwald’s failed war. 

Beauxbatons didn’t forget how splintered that war had left Europe and vowed never to. 

With the lack of Slytherin and familial presence pressing down on the Black sons, their pureblood ideals, and with Beauxbaton’s low tolerance of radicalism, the two boys… went quite a different way than Walburga had intended.

The moment Sirius Black touched down in England and he found himself unwillingly enveloped in a new war, he’d sought out Professor Dumbledore and declared his allegiance, pledged himself to be useful in whatever way the Order needed.

“A spy,” Fleamont finished to an astonished James and Lily. “Need to know only. He’s been feeding us what he can— it’s why we were able to have that raid in the first place. And Snape’s flat… And… well, now Pet— Pettigrew.”

Lily’s hand slipped into James’, squeezing, as he tried to push past the twinge in his chest. Their tea had long gone cold and the storm had tempered somewhat. Footsteps padded through a corridor, and then Euphemia slipped into the darkened kitchen and took them in, all sitting around the table, staring at her. 

Effie took a great breath and then swept past them, to the sink, and ran some water to wash her hands. “He’s sleeping. Cursed— crucio, I’d say, by an experienced hand. Dumbledore should be here shortly…” 

Fleamont gathered the tea cups and started on a new batch at the stove. “Did he say what happened?” 

The water cut off, and Euphemia braced her hands on the counter and stared outside, into the storm. “Clearly there was a fight but he only said a little… Severus Snape, he said. Something about a prophecy…”

None of that made sense, of course, but James went cold at the mention of Snape. Lily squeezed his hand harder. 

“Why is he here,” James said instead.

“Safe house,” Euphemia replied. 

Through the storm, a crack sounded, higher and sharper than thunder, and they all turned toward the window, all rising slowly. Dumbledore’s white beard came into focus first, and then Effie and Monty hurried through the kitchen. 

Sirius slept through the night and most of the next day, waking to a bright afternoon sun that dried the deep puddles formed by the storm. Dumbledore disappeared into his room the moment Sirius finished a cup of warm broth and some tea, and stayed until well into the evening, emerging only when Sirius slipped into another deep sleep.

“A prophecy concerning Voldemort,” Dumbledore said to them all in the sitting room. “That I was witness to, and that both Severus Snape and Sirius overheard.”

“Why would Voldemort care about a prophecy?” James sounded almost hushed.

“It predicts his defeat,” Dumbledore answered and allowed them a moment to process. “His defeat, by the hands of a child yet to be born. Naturally, Snape wished to inform his master immediately while Sirius felt a need to protect this child.”

“But why would Sirius—”

“It’s an innocent child, James,” Lily cut him off, green eyes bright. “But besides that, wouldn’t you want to keep this information from Voldemort? The measures he’d take…” She shivered at whatever her mind conjured.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed, and the room fell silent, just for a moment. “Now, I must be going, I’ve intruded on your hospitality long enough, Effie, Monty.” Both of James’ parents brushed him off with soft murmurs of denial, making Dumbledore smile slightly. “I shall return, of course. There’s still much to be decided, after Sirius has rested…”

The manor fell back into silence and routine after Dumbledore slipped into the night and Apparated back to Hogwarts. Euphemia and Fleamont had one more cup of tea before they retired for bed. James listened to them go and looked up when the floorboards for the guest bedroom creaked; Effie checking Sirius. 

He and Lily went up soon after; the guest house was fine, she said, but Mary was visiting her mother and it was so quiet out there now and… James simply took her hand and led her to his room. 

He couldn’t sleep, though. Lily curled up beside him, warm, her soft breathing tickling the hairs at his neck but James stared at his dark canopy. He felt so heavy, in heart and mind. Numb. None of the pleasant, drifting peace coaxing his thoughts to quiet. 

So, James carefully untangled himself from Lily, brushing a finger down her cheek, and slipped from his room. 

The corridor was dark and he did his best to avoid the creakier floorboards, padding as silently as he could until he reached the wooden door at the end of the hall. His hand paused over the brass knob, hesitating as he took a breath, but then— ah, fuck it. 

The door opened soundlessly and James stepped into to find Sirius sitting up in bed and staring out the darkened window. “Heard you coming from down the hall,” he said, voice rough, as James carefully snapped the door shut. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Now that he was here, James didn’t know what to do with himself. Sirius certainly wasn’t offering up any suggestions, stare stuck on the window as it was. He looked around as best he could in the dark and settled for sitting at the desk and lighting its candle.

Sirius looked almost as rough as he had when he first arrived, though the blood had been washed away. He was still pale, though, and his terror upon arrival had clearly faded into exhaustion. 

“I—” James started, stopped, and then cleared his throat. “I want to thank you. For— for Snape. And for… Peter.”

Sirius turned his gray eyes on James and said nothing for a moment, and then offered the smallest of smiles. “I wasn’t sure, that night at the pub, when I saw Pettigrew. I sort of hoped I was wrong about that but, well, had to look in on it, right?”

James’ throat went thick upon realizing that, on Remus’ birthday, Peter had already… “Yeah…”

Sirius watched him intently. “You were good friends?”

“Like brothers.” And then James had to look away; his finger pushed at a little figurine on the desk, pointlessly, something to do. 

“I’m sorry, then.”

James nodded, blinking, waiting for his chest to loosen before he ventured, “what will you do now?”

Heaving out a long sigh, Sirius shifted his gaze back out the window. “My brother’s coming home in a few weeks. Voldemort has expressed his interest but I expect the Black family has fallen out of favor by now and… Reg won’t join, he doesn’t believe, but I still have to…”

Sirius trailed off, his concern evident in the creasing of his brow and the tightening of his jaw as he thought of his brother in France. 

“You know,” James began, catching Sirius’ attention. “I reckon I could help you with that. Brothers are… they should stick together.”

Understanding passed between them and Sirius nodded. They fell into silence again; if James concentrated, he could hear the summer frogs croaking outside and he almost felt the peace he missed earlier in bed. He almost laughed, how absurd this was: sitting with Sirius Black, who just two days ago, James thought was a devoted follower of Voldemort. 

And now— now, James watched Sirius turn his gaze on the tattoo poking through the edge of his sleeve and frown in disgust. 

“There’s gotta be a way to get rid of it.”

Sirius shrugged. “Maybe.” And then he unrolled his pyjama sleeve, hiding it completely from sight. WIth obvious deflection, he pulled up a roguish smile. “So about Lupin…”

“Don’t push it,” James snapped, only half defensive, but recognizing the attempt for light heartedness and welcoming it gladly, if only because it felt like a step toward normal life. 

**Author's Note:**

> -[Tumblr](https://charmingwillow.tumblr.com/)


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